


How To Save a Life

by Venturous



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, Apologies to anyone of Actual Hispanic Heritage, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, James is a Priest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:14:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/pseuds/Venturous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father James Herrera was sent to the remote mountain village of Morelia for reasons he would rather not disclose. One fine morning he is sent to fetch a former Sheriff, Roberto Luis, from the nearest town. </p><p>Luis is returning after some years away, having left his post in the wake of personal and professional tragedy. But someone else is waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Save a Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



Father James had heard many tales of Roberto Luis, what a fine man he had been before the death of his wife, how he maintained a wise and fair hand of justice through good times and bad. To hear the legend of Sheriff Luis, you'd think he was part wizard, part saint. Even the men he had sent to penitentiary spoke well of him, and credited him with their salvation.

And so when talk of his return began to circulate the village, Father James was of course curious to meet this man. From saloon to plaza to market the word spread that Luis was returning to his home village after a decade away. There were whispered tales of his bitter drunkenness in the aftermath of his wife’s cruel and untimely death; she was clearly as beloved as he. James wondered what the years away had done for this man, and looked forward to finding out.

“Is he a church-going man, do you suppose?” he asked his companion, the current Sheriff Juan Innocenté.

“Luis? never.” Juan snorted. “Trusts his own senses, and reason, that’s what he’d say.” Juan took another long pull on his beer.

“Perhaps he’s changed, over all this time.” James offered, sipping the golden ale.

“Don't count on it. Mind you, he’ll be polite, he’ll give you the time of day. But he won't be showing up for mass, I’d bet my last gold piece.”

Father James had been sent to the remote mountain village of Morelia the previous year, and although dutifully accepting the small town post as God’s will, deep in his secret heart he had dreaded the posting. Tiny, isolated by mountains, far from the world at large -- he loathed how backward and ignorant such a place could be, and feared for his prospects there. But today, he smiled to himself at the peace and rightness in his town. It had truly become his sanctuary.

God had led Father James to his right place, he now believed, for the quality of his connection with parishioners, the work he did with elders and youth, and the incredible depth of faith and power he felt moving in him in his masses and prayers were beyond what he had ever expected to achieve in his lifetime. God works in mysterious ways, indeed.

Father James was to ride down to meet Luis at the train in San Cavo. It was not a long trip, just half a day, but it was known to be dangerous, bandits and drug runners having no hesitation to assault or murder a lone traveler for the goods they carried. But fear of God was still extent, and James knew that most thugs thought twice about harming a priest, for fear of the literal wrath of God. This made him smile. For once, the Lord was more powerful than the Law.

He made a fine figure that morning, astride his dark horse, black cassock and broad-brimmed hat, long gun strapped to the saddle. After choosing a saddle horse for Luis he waved to a few town folk and Sheriff Innocenté and trotted down the dusty road out of town.

The morning sun was already hot, but the bright light was a wonder, and James gave a prayer of gratitude for the beauty of the world as he followed the gulley down and around the valley. Soon there was a trickle of water in the dry wash and it became a stream, and then a river, with tall cottonwood trees crowded its bank for a drink, leaves shuffling in the breeze.

His journey down the mountain passed without incident, and he arrived well before the train and so had cause to await the arrival of the legend. After completing dutiful morning prayers, James had imagined what he would, and more importantly wouldn’t, say to the man.

He knew that Juan Innocenté was secretly grateful for Luis’ return, that there were troubles that weighed heavily on the sheriff, troubles that he did not reveal in the confessional booth. In the village, James had heard many tales of Luis’s bravery, loyalty and fidelity. He thought the man might be the only faithful husband in Morelia, and not because women didn’t pine for him.

James had imagined the man from the many descriptions he had listened to, and so he looked right past the rather plain and tired-looking figure who disembarked with only a battered valise and small rucksack, and headed out to the station front. Since the distinction between prayer and siesta was often a subtle one, James startled awake when the man shook his sleeve.

“Father James? I’m Roberto Luis.”

The midday sun made Luis’s thinning hair a crown of light. He seemed very tall, and James had the sensation of an angel bending over him. Then the gust of the man’s liquored breath awakened James to his mundane situation.

He stood abruptly, matching the man in height, and bowed slightly, which gratefully hid his embarrassment for falling asleep.

“Father James Herrera, at your service, sir.”

The man nodded, and followed James toward the livery.

“The sun is high, son, and an old man is weary from travel. Do you suppose we could find a meal and a pint, and await a cooler hour for traveling?”

Studying his charge, James could hear the hunger for drink in the man’s words. He also read the genuine weariness in the man’s face and posture, and considered.

“Leaving too late we run a risk of bandits or worse, Señor. But I agree, the sun is, at the moment, too much for the horses.” The two men walked back toward the station front.

Luis was about to step off the planked walkway into the dusty street when James grabbed his rough sleeve and yanked him off his feet, just as a trap pulled by two matched bays careened in front of them in a cloud of dust. The man fell hard onto the priest, and the two of them landed in a heap on the planks.

“What the Hell!” Luis shoved himself off of James awkwardly, struggling to regain his balance. But he offered a hand to James, who gratefully and gracefully arose, brushing the dust from his cassock.

“I’m sorry, Señor, I didn’t think you saw them coming.”

“I didn’t.” The older man confessed. “Thank you, Father. Now, about that drink!”

Father James noted carefully how little of his meal Luis consumed, and how many times he refilled his beer. James watched the sunlight moving in the wall, and wished his vow of poverty allowed for a pocket watch. As if he had read his mind, Luis stretched back in his chair, released a satisfying belch, and pulled out a fine gold watch from his waistcoat.

“Half passed two, I reckon we should be on the move then, lad? Oh, Forgive me, Father.” He spoke the title with the tiniest inflection of … sarcasm? derision? James couldn’t tell.

“You need not speak formally with me, Señor. I will answer to James, lad, ‘hey you...’” He smiled gently.

“A priest with a sense of humor, eh? Now there’s a new one.” Luis eyed him with new interest.

Despite his alcohol-saturated state, Roberto Luis was a fine horseman, and he appraised his mount with care and appreciation. He ran his hands over the tall mare’s limbs and inspected her feet, stroked her neck as he looked at her eyes, and produced a shriveled carrot from his pocket, winning the horse’s eager cooperation before taking to the saddle. As the horses had enjoyed a respite in the shade, well watered and fed, they were fresh and eager to go, so they set off at a good pace.

“I notice you keep looking behind us. Are you expecting we’d be followed?”

“Oh, not specifically, sir, but as I mentioned, we’ve had our share of troubles around Morelia lately. The village itself seems a peaceful place, but travelers have been sacked, and more than one trader has gone missing. Or worse. Our tinsmith, he visited thrice a year, he was found dead, desecrated, not long ago, in a dry wash along the road.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Father James. The world is filled with mindless evil, alas.”

James considered how to respond to this. He didn’t necessarily believe in a literal devil, but he was quite sure that most of the evil he had seen in the world had plenty of human calculation behind it. He was a man of God, and he believed that greed was a choice, one that corroded men’s hearts, and allowed evil to breed within them. Perhaps this seemed mindless to others.

“You are deep in thought, young priest.”

“Oh, yes sir.”

“Well, do tell me.”

“I need not impose my religious ideas upon you sir, I’ve been informed.”

Luis sat up taller and grew red in the face. His horse tensed, prancing sideways, and he reined her up harshly.

“Oh?” he shouted, “And just what have you been told, Father?” No doubt of it, there was derision in the way he spit the title this time.

“That I’m a washed up drunk? That I can’t stand religious do-gooders, or people who blame their bad behavior on supernatural forces? That I’m a broken man since my wife’s death?

James himself was shocked when he replied.

“Pretty much, sir.”

“Well, so be it. I will live up to your expectations.”

Luis looked so huffy that James smiled

“What?” he thundered. “Just what is so amusing to you? What could you possibly know about anything, you young pup? Especially about love and loss?”

You might be surprised, James thought, losing the smile.

When dusk was well upon them, James calculated they still had at least an hour’s ride to the village. The horses needed water, and he guided them off the road to a small spring, down a narrow trail. They had to walk the horses, and loose stones that fell, echoing, as they passed. They arrived at the spring, a cool and beautiful place, green leaves shading the small pool, and they all drank gratefully.

Luis stood and wiped his mouth, his face blue with stubble in the evening light. Father James found he kept on looking at the man, searching the map of his face for an answer, as if he had known him well somewhere before. Luis looked back into his eyes with a measured calm, studying him in turn.

The rattle of falling stones interrupted this reverie, and they both turned toward the sound, which echoed down the small arroyo. As the world fell into silence again, with a meaningful look they agreed to stay silent, listening a while longer.

After a time, they determined it was likely just a deer, or rock slide, and as quietly as they were able, made their way back up the arroyo toward the road. The dusk deepened full into early night; a bright aqua still glowed in the sky but the landscape was nearly black, no detail revealed on the ground. They relied on the horses’ good instincts to choose the trail. For a while, they rode quietly as the sky grew dim.

Just as James began to relax, an owl cry echoed somewhere just ahead of them. An answer came from their near right, just up the hill. James felt his insides turn to ice. Not owls.

In the same instant, Luis grabbed his horses’ rein and pulled them off the track into the scrub where he dismounted. James followed suit, and felt Luis’ hand on his sleeve tugging urgently. They left their mounts and crawled between rocks, easing among the sage scrub, boulders and shriveled trees.

Crouching behind a huge boulder, James’s eyes became a bit sharper in the inky blackness and he saw Luis gesture back toward the trail where they had left their mounts. They heard the sounds of scuffling and curses.

“Merde! The bastards are out there somewhere.”

“Come out, or I will cut your throats!”

James heard Luis repressing a small laugh. He was at first astonished, then relieved, at the man’s confidence. James was no coward; he had been tested, and could stand up to danger. But it was challenging his faith to keep his heart from hammering audibly, it happened so fast. Plus he was simmering in guilt for allowing them to fall behind schedule and fall prey to danger.

He clutched for his rosary and summoned his strength. The man he was with had years of experience. He would follow Luis’ lead.

They waited for an eternity. But at last he heard footsteps a twig snapping in the sand, the clatter of small stones. Luis’ eyes almost twinkled in the dark. He held a finger to his lips, then made a gesture that could only mean ‘follow me.’

Slowly the two rose above the rock, gaining a view of the way they had come. Fully accustomed to the dark now, James saw quite clearly in the moonless night a man walking hesitantly, peering around each shrub and stone.

Luis threw a pebble. James watched the gesture thinking: brilliant, until he heard where the stone fell, just to their right. The intruder stopped, straightened up.

“I know you’re out there, Roberto Luis. You’ll not set foot in Morelia again, not alive. I made that promise and now I intend to follow through.”

“Vasquez!” Luis whispered under his breath. “I’ll be God-damned. He didn’t waste any time.”

Before James could process this new information Luis exploded in to motion , springing from behind the boulder. James darted around the far side of the enormous rock to see Luis on top of the intruder, pummeling his face. He apparently didn’t see the knife in the Vasquez’s hand, and so Father James lunged for the man’s arm, twisting it hard enough to wring forth a sharp cry.

Just as he gave the final twist, expecting to dislodge the knife and hear it hit the ground, something knocked the wind out of him. Another man leapt onto his back and savagely punched him in the head.

“No!” James kicked furiously attempting to get his feet under him, trying to throw the attacker, who now had both hands around his throat, choking. Something told James to hit the ground (it was an angel, but he would never have told this to Luis.) So he curled forward, assailant latched around his neck, and shoved himself into a forward roll. His airway was closed, his strength was leaving him, and James prayed furiously to complete the move and slam that fiend to the ground before he lost consciousness. He was spinning in a sparkling darkness, lack of oxygen, his mind supplied helpfully, as he slipped backwards… “Please, God, I must…”

The gunshot was deafening, and he felt it reverberating in his bones before he was properly back into his body. Then he was choking, coughing and god help him crying, as someone held him in their lap.

He awoke years later, or a few moments, the sky filled with stars and no sound but his breathing, and sat up abruptly, alarmed.

“Easy lad.” Luis was there, offering him a drink from his flask. The spirits burned his throat and James was grateful for the pain.

“What.. agh..” he croaked, his throat aching.

“One dead, Vasquez unconscious, handcuffed and trussed up on my horse. “

He watched Luis in the starlight.

“Not bad for my first night home, eh, lad?” The man was grinning!

James shook his head.

“So aside from your voice, are you all in one piece?” Luis inquired, and James surveyed his limbs, then attempted to stand. Luis took his arm and steadied him, and James wobbled a bit, then dusted off his cassock and felt for his rosary.

“No permanent damage, sir.” He croaked, with an attempt at a smile. He was a bit light-headed, but that could be from the events of the day, not just the recent blows to the head.

Nodding with approval, Luis, still holding his arm, guided him to walk ahead, toward the horses not far away. James breathed in the clear night air and stretched, feeling remarkably well. His horse was glad to see him. He noticed they had acquired two more.

“I’m fine.” He said, dismissing Luis’ offer to help him mount. The older man held the reins until James was seated, looking up at him.

“A bit more excitement than your average day, father?” His eyes twinkled.

James made a squawk, half moan, mostly a laugh. Luis swing into the saddle, leading the two horses, one laden with the immobilized Vasquez, and they set off up the mountain.

James wanted to say something about having seen his share of action, that being a priest wasn’t always a tidy indoor job, but he had best rest his throat for now. There would be time for that. He looked forward to unraveling more of the mystery of Vasquez, and why he was laying in wait for Luis.

James had many questions, actually. But his profession, if not his temperament, had equipped him with remarkable patience. As they rode into the village, James had the feeling that Roberto Luis would be the source of more intrigue and adventure to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize to anyone with actual Hispanic heritage or knowledge, I was inspired by stories by Garcia Marquez and others and the bunny just took over. I considered altering all the names, but when it came to James as Diego, although this might be more authentic, it just took it too far from Canon in my mind. 
> 
> I would love to carry on with this tale, since it seems like there is plenty of mystery left to unravel for these too.  
> Leave prompts for ongoing episodes!
> 
>  
> 
> I also apologize to anyone who attempted to read during the first few hours, while I was still doing the final edit.


End file.
